Class 10B had not had a permanent literature teacher for a long time. One went on maternity leave, the other couldn’t take it after a month of work. When Anna Vyacheslavovna appeared — young, calm, neat — the kids looked at each other:
“Another one… She won’t stay long.”
The first lesson began with a strength test.
“Okay, open your notebooks…” the teacher began.
“But we didn’t bring any!” someone shouted from the back row. Laughter.
“Maybe you’ll introduce yourself first and then teach?” another one said sarcastically.
“Okay. Anna Vyacheslavovna,” she said calmly. “And I…”
“Anna Viagralovna!” one of the girls shouted.
“The smell of perfume from the last century, and the glasses are like an old woman’s!” the laughter grew louder.
Someone turned on the sound of a donkey braying on their phone. The class burst into laughter. While she was explaining something at the board, one of the students launched a paper airplane right at her back.
The teacher turned around.
“Maybe you’ll burst into tears and run away, like the last one?” one of the students whispered, but specifically so that she could hear.
Someone yawned loudly and theatrically dropped a textbook on the floor. The others picked it up — now books were falling, chairs were creaking, and someone was already openly scrolling through TikTok on a tablet.
And then Anna Vyacheslavovna, unexpectedly for everyone, sat down on the edge of the table and quietly, even somehow casually, said… The whole class froze at her words… Continuation 👇👇
“You know, I wasn’t always a teacher. Exactly a year ago, I worked in the oncology department for teenagers. There were people your age there. Some dreamed of simply living to graduation. Everything was important to them: books, poetry, just communication.
— A guy, 17 years old. Diagnosis: sarcoma. We read “Eugene Onegin” out loud with him, because he himself could no longer speak.
The class slowed down a bit.
— He held the book, even when his fingers no longer obeyed. He told me: “It’s a pity that I didn’t like books before. Now I would give everything to just… sit in a regular lesson. Without an IV.”
The class became noticeably quieter.
— A girl from another ward, — the teacher continued, — dreamed of getting into school. Just sitting in a real class. You guys… You all live their dream, but you act as if life owes you something.
— I will neither pity you nor persuade you. I know the price of this. And if you want to know it, continue.
She stood up, straightened the stack of notebooks on the table, adjusted her glasses and opened the journal. The rest of the lesson, the class was silent.
From that day on, no one called her anything else or joked behind her back.
